plastic taste
by lady lutka
Summary: a plastic obsession, an entire life built from the click of a button. small smile—hidden, almost fake (he sees through it as clear as day.) clicks subscribe, wonders why no one else notices. —natsu&lucy YouTuberAU/
1. loosies are illegal

**I don't own FT** (is this really neccessary? I feel like it's not bc FFN should already cover this shit for us but whatever. I have like, $3 you can't touch me bitch.

YouTuber AU. HIGHLY inspired by my fave YT fam; _tgfbro_ \+ _by Jay Swingler_ (Jay's editing is to die for, omg), _Evelina Forsell_ , a little bit of _Marzia_ and ofc, the Cancer Crew.

 ** _REGARDING LENGTH:_** pretty much going to be an on-going drabble-like thing. I'll upload when I feel like I have enough material.

* * *

unsaved info / **_joji_**

tightrope / **_XXXTENTACION_** ft. **_Scott James_**

my own / **_ODIE_** ft. **_Ya'qob_**

mirror / **ℒ** _ **und** _

/

plastic taste no. 1

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 _Twenty-three year old cluster of stardust. Let's explore the world together._

A plastic obsession, an entire life built from the click of a button. A small smile—hidden, almost fake. He sees through it as clear as day. Clicks subscribe, wonders why no one else notices.

"She's a weird one, Happy," he ponders, pauses a recent travel vlog to pet his cat.

The creature purrs, tail swishing. She lights up the screen again. Soft, pastel grunge theme. Whoretastic Barbie with a law degree wardrobe. A brightening filter— so subtle, he almost doesn't notice.

" _Hello, Tokyo. I've missed you._ "

A slight accent. Swedish, he thinks. Perhaps even Finnish. He compares her to Lagertha, almost laughs himself silly. A burning cigarette forgotten, tendrils of smoke drifting towards the ceiling. _Loosies are illegal_ written in perfect scripture across the cigarette pack; Erza, trying to scare him away from dangerous habits.

A marvel of editing. His chest feels light, lips loose, eyes feasting. He clicks every download link in the description, pays for a Chloe Burbank album. _Baby I might—if we, don't have the time to—be free._

"I think I like her," he hums, decides to perhaps mention her channel in the next upload.

She could use the exposure.

* * *

 _I'm a fucking mess and I know it. Sub for shenanigans._

Sitting in a spray-painted bathtub. Reading questions off a cracked phone screen. Shirtless, nipples clamped with pink clothes pegs. A cigarette, dangling from the corner of pursed lips.

" _You're a retard_ ," he barks a laugh, looks at the camera incredulously. " _Well, that's fucking offensive. Next_."

Cut to a close up of a rust-spotted ash tray. _I heard you was looking for a gangsta—where did you go?_ She appreciates the aesthetics, pulls her robe tighter around her shoulders. Grainy filter, crackling cassette tape stock.

" _Latest obsession_."

His expression is warm, secretive.

" _Gotta be_ _lovelucy, hit her up. But don't tell her I sent you. What am I, a fucking creep?"_

Behind camera, there is a snort and a choked _yes_.

A flash of pain as he tugs at the pegs, yanks them off violently. _Don't say I never tried BDSM, ya sick pricks._

She rewinds, plays his voice saying her name on an endless loop. A girlish crush, two years deep, finally realised. A squeal, chair tipping back, crashing and burning through DIY backdrops.

"Ohmygosh," breathless, lo-fi playing through an expensive sound system, "that did not just happen."

* * *

 _"_ _Hello, Helsinki. I'm home."_

Drone shots of a city so far from him. Beautiful, filled with light. He can smell chestnuts, forest air, snow. A lesson in the language of Finns. He repeats the words soundlessly, likening her voice to a lullaby.

" _There is beauty everywhere. You just need to look hard enough_."

A rainbow oil stain. A cat curled up on a park bench. Pink-tipped fingers, frost bitten. Skyscrapers. Lakes. Children sipping from a drinking fountain. An ocean.

She plays his latest outro song. _The sun started falling when you woke up—the girl with the golden heart I killed from the inside out—don't leave this town, my dear._

"You're a perv," his roommate comments, "she's got good tits though."

"Fuck up, and stop playing shitty music every time you jack off."

"I'm Snapchatting this. Say hey to all your fans, retard."

He flips the bird. "You can all suck my—"

"Natsu Cuntneel, bad to the bone, living off cash loans—"

"With a dick like an ozone, amiright?"

Gray posts the video, draws over Natsu's head in hot pink and turns the scribbles into a detailed cock.

LiL PEEP and Fetty Wap, star shopping and trap queens. Creaking office chair, stripper room mate. Yellow AUX chord and a stolen set of college-boy weights.

"I think I'm gonna reach out to her."

Gray shrugs, waves a hand. "Go for it. Subs would eat it up. Have you seen some of the fan edits circling around?"

Lund on a loop. Smiles and edited movie scenes. Hands trailing up quivering thighs, cut to a girl with sad, sad eyes. _I thought I saw the devil_. Hospital; from when a video went horribly wrong and he recorded the whole thing. Lucy in Paris, Lucy in Tokyo, Lucy in St Petersburg. Natsu in a ring with tattered boxing gloves and sand bags strung from the ceiling. She paints her office walls, Michaelangelo and Johann Bayer. Natsu covered in paint, Lucy grins secretively.

"Shit," he breathes, posts it to twitter; captions _you guys have too much time on your hands the fuck_.

Within a minute, someone's tagged Lucy and she's commenting.

 _I think it's pretty cute_

Gray whoops from the living room, rushes in to Natsu.

"Bro, you got a solid chance here. Hit her up. Now is _the_ time."

Natsu stares blankly. "Okay, Tiffany. Should I wear the pink dress or the blue hotpants?"

A clip behind the ear, sneers. "Fucker. I'm trying to get you some pussy so I don't have to deal with your useless bullshit anymore."

"That's better. Now get out."

A click. New window. Two little words

a whole world of new beginnings.

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 ** _._**

 _tbc_


	2. yung slum

Had to upload this quick bc **_ANNOUNCEMENT :_** I'm not receiving reviews. I get the email alert but none of it shows up on the actual website, so if I don't reply it's not because I hate you but bc FFN is being glitchy. So SHOUTOUT to _Twishadowhunter_ and _ThatOneFriend-3._ I see you, appreciate all the love. Glad you guys came for more from **_plastic waste_** x

* * *

plastic taste / **_joji_**

plastic / **_moses sumney_**

/

plastic taste no. 2

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 _what's up?_

A rush—perhaps like love. Butterflies and swallows fluttering inside a daisy-filled chest. Fingers hesitate and tremble—ohgods what do I do.

 _Helllllooo?_

She startles, remembers that there's a person on the other side of her laptop screen.

 _Hey! Sorry, was a little caught up. How are you?_

Was that too much?

Is she being too invasive?

Perhaps too forward?

Rain against antique pine. A lodge in the French mountains; snow town, quaint little villages and street dogs.

 _I'm pre alright. you?_

 _Just the same old, you know how it is (:_

 _Yeahhh about that. Those fan edits are crazy_

Her heart sinks, remembers his initial reaction on twitter.

 _Good crazy? Or bad?_

His response takes a while, but when it does she feels like bursting.

 _Good crazy lmao. It's weird to think about, but I kinda like it._

He entertains the thought of them, finds _pleasure_ in it. Lucy wonders if she is dreaming.

 _Like I said, I think it's cute_

 _We should meet up sometime, get to know each other an all._

Yes, yes a thousand times _yes_.

 _I'm visiting family in France atm, but I could be in London by next week. Is that too soon?_

 _Nah, that's perfect. Was planning a drive to London soon for more tattoos anyways. You could come with if you wanted._

 _I'd like that._

Plans are made then, business phone numbers traded. She goes to sleep with a silly smile, heart set alight; bread crumbs chewing up the miles between them. (C _an I tell you a secret?—tell you that my silver is gold_ — _and_ _I_ _know what it is to be broke_ — _my wings are made of plastic._ )

* * *

Grey clouds and yellow raincoats.

He meets her at a Tube entrance—corny and so tourist-cringe, he knows.

"Hey," she smiles, accepts the hug. Jasmine and pine, addictive and heady.

"You ready to do this shit?"

"Of course! I brought some French candy. I read somewhere that sugar is good before getting tattooed."

He couldn't care if she was lying through her teeth, would do anything for her. _Go jump off a cliff, Natsu_. Yeah, sure babe—want me to bring back some shells and shit?

So fucking whipped.

Crochet bra-thingy and a long, clingy skirt. Fake fur across her shoulders for warmth, wedges to make her that bit taller. He wonders if he should offer his jacket—it's Nike, surely she wouldn't find it tacky?

"I'm not that materialistic," she says with a grin, pokes him in the side teasingly.

He said it aloud, oh shit.

"And I'm not cold. Finland is much cooler than this; I'm almost sweating. But, thank you for the offer."

Was she rambling? Perhaps she was as nervous as he?

"Almost there," he says instead, pulls her a bit closer

(she's not good at hiding smiles.)

* * *

"Fucking hell."

She lays a hand on a sweating shoulder, exchanges an amused glance with the artist.

"Mate, I told you not to get it there."

"Shut it, Reedus. I'm not a pussy."

The Frank-born Londoner laughs, digs the needle in a tiny bit harder. Rib tattoos are bitches, she's learned. Natsu's yelp affirms this, and she rubs slow circles between his shoulders.

A gaudy wolf, almost Cerebus-like. Its head rests over his navel, body curled around his ribs and the left-side of his back. Clawed paws forever resting upon his hip and thigh. A buddy for Igneel, he says. Decides to name it Plue after her excited suggestion, despite the amused chuckle it drew from Reedus.

"Line work almost done?"

"Yes'sir," the artist mocks.

"Sweet."

Lucy browses through Reedus' portfolio, falls in love with a floral arrangement gracing the thigh of a nameless lady. Natsu notices, says it would be becoming of her.

She gazes upon him carefully, eyes locked. He challenges her to _just do it_. What is there to lose?

Spur of the moment.

Blue stencils, topless. Soft tape on pink gems to protect her modesty—she blushes despite the state of her wardrobe.

"This your first tat, darlin'?"

She nods, her artist sympathises—a man, Jackal, covered in beautiful tribal artwork and Viking runes.

"It'll sting. Sternums always hurt."

She breathes deep, schools her face at the first bite of the needle. Inspired by Zihwa, intricate floral masterpieces. An endearing vine under each breast, gracing the tops of her ribs. Creeping roses and geraniums. Monochromatic, let the art do the talking.

Natsu gets a pair of angel wings on the back of his neck as he waits, Plue cleaned and wrapped for the walk home; just the line work, there will be two follow-up sessions by the end of next month.

They've already made plans to go together.

"This was fun," she exclaims, adrenaline and good vibes.

He pokes her exposed waist, marvels at her warmth. "Ready for round two?"

"Of course. I could do this again tomorrow, I've loved it so much."

"Glad to hear it," he says, almost bashfully—she wishes she could frame that expression.

Auburn against antique-looking buildings, all arches and spires reaching towards a false heaven.

"Gonna be warm tomorrow," he comments.

She isn't watching the sunset. Warm light against stubbled cheeks, unapologetic pink hair (for a video years ago that stuck.) He says it makes him edgy and she thinks it's endearing.

Slanted grin. Slight overbite. Yellow-stained fingers, remnants of a life spent pretending to be a fire breathing dragon. He offers her a puff. She entertains the idea, decides against it. God knows she can't stand the smell of poison clinging to nylon fabric.

"Health thing I should know about? My second-hand smoke going to kill you?"

"I just never liked the smell. I like it on you, though," she is quick to add, lest he thinks she find him disgusting.

Stupid Snapchat filters. Say _ahhh_ hun, pink tongue. She fights to be the Dalmatian, pushes his head out of the way. Saves it to his memories, captions it _whatta weirdo_.

She could get used to this.

* * *

White linen. Marble bath. Luxury in contrast to his hell-bent, wayward path.

"Sir? There is a Mr Fullbuster looking for you."

"Fuck sakes," a groan, mussed hair peeking from under a feather down doona.

Another knock. "Sir?"

"Send him in and make him pay for breakfast."

Orange juice and subpar coffee. Blinds cracked open, room filled with tobacco smoke.

"How'd it go?"

"Good," he grunts, grouchy and tired. Sleep was evasive, what dreams he could enjoy filled with pretty smiles and Nordic blonde hair.

" _Just_ good?"

" _Yes_ , you cunt. What, do you want an entire fucking essay?"

"Whatever, man."

Blessed quiet. He tears into his fry up, ignores the phone recording him until it smacks him in the forehead.

"Oi, dickface. You listening?"

"No."

Gray sighs, massages his face. Wonders why the fuck he bothers to put up with this shit. "I _said_ , Erza wants to catch up. Makarov's been hounding her, apparently—wants to see the cash by next week."

"Tell him I've got it sorted."

A cynical laugh. "Yeah, of course. Sorry, I forgot for a moment that I wasn't your accountant."

"Bastard."

"Right, okay. You've got ten minutes to be up or so help me, I will drag your arse around naked for all I care. Your reputation, not mine."

Door slams, heavy sigh. Natsu reclines back, entertains the thought of deleting his entire online presence and moving to Scandinavia, where he'll live in a lodge somewhere and eat off the land like some self-made jarl.

Warning rap to the door. _I'll tell Erza to cancel all your matches if you're not out here in two minutes._

Another day, another motherfucking dollar.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _tbc_


	3. cruella de vil

The review issue **_has been fixed_** , so thank you to Fiction Press! Happy holidays to you guys who celebrate them. As a belated present, I'll reveal that I've been working on a top secret project for the past few months, and I can not wait until I can finally reveal it. I will say that it is a fresh change, super different to the usual style. Hella serious, fucking mammoth chapters. **On that note: _I AM DESPERATELY LOOKING FOR A BETA READER AND AT THIS POINT IDC IF YOU'RE JUST A FAN THAT WOULDN'T MIND SEEING SNEAK PEEKS. IF THIS IS YOU, CONTACT ME!_**

SHOUTOUT to _Ihartkimchi_ , _Twishadowhunter_ and _4evrDorkly17_ for all the love despite the review issue. Much appreciated, my sweets x

* * *

teeth / **_XXXTENTACION_**

/

plastic taste no. 3

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 ** _._**

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"I don't believe in God—I believe in booty and bourbon, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Both very good alternatives, I assume."

Nudge to the shoulder, beer sloshing down her arm. "What about you, Viking girl?"

"I believe in the world. No matter how tough things may have been for me, I could always rely on two things—"

"Oooh, lemme guess—Swedish dick and dime bags?"

"Close. I could always count on the sun rising in the morning, and the stars coming out at night. Nature has never let me down, hence my undying devotion to it."

A scarlet-robed lady, ethereal and classy perfection. Impressed nod, warm hand upon her arm. "A very noble cause."

"And what about you, Dame Fucks-a-lot?"

Natsu's manager raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "I haven't the time for such menial things, I'll have you know."

"Don't act like I haven't walked in on you bobbing on Jellal's dick like it's a trampoline."

Lucy snorts, decides then that it would be a good time to head back to her temporary home.

"It was nice meeting you, ladies. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Noo, Erza you scared away my plaything. Come back to me, baby!"

Sidestepping wandering hands, flushed cheeks. "Oh, wow. Okay, we're really going there."

"I apologise for Cana's obscene behaviour. She tends to get like this the nights before her partner is due to be in the ring."

"Partner? Pshh, I'm _single_. You hear that, boys?! Sin-gle!"

"Good _bye_ , Cana. Get some rest, Erza."

"Have a safe drive home."

Abnormally dry Winter. Frosty breath, fingers pink-tipped. She cradles a mug of hot chocolate, smiles when a weary man lingers in her doorway.

"Luce, that you?"

"Yes. Come, sit with me."

Hand outstretched, dwarfed by a much larger one. "'kay, but not too long. We have to get up before dawn tomorrow."

They share the warm beverage, exchange silly smiles.

"I'm worried," she admits, like he hadn't noticed her teeth-abused bottom lip.

Natsu scratches at Plue—she admires the artwork not for the first time. Black shading, fifty shades of obsidian; white detailing for teeth and eyes. Her fingers find their way to his bare skin, tracing the outline of Plue's claws.

"I'll be fine, stop stressing."

"I can't help it. It's not even a professional environment—how can I not worry?"

Exasperated sigh, warm eyes. "I've been fighting for as long as I've been breathing. Just because I fight cage and underground doesn't mean I'm not a pro at what I do."

"But still…"

"If it helps," he begins, places hands either side of her face—thumbs caressing, wrists flush against her throat, "I'll see if Erza can switch seats with you. You'll be in my corner then with Laxus and Gramps."

"It's okay," she smiles, "I'll handle it. I just wish my first time seeing you fight wouldn't be at such a high-stakes match."

Offended gasp, as faux as her rabbit fur boots, "You say that like I haven't see you watching my fighting vlogs on the daily."

"It's different, though. That's from behind a screen, this will be in person."

One-armed hug, firelight setting olive-toned skin aglow. "I'm just messing with you. Come to bed, please?"

Playful grin, flushed skin. "Nice try, you creep. Goodnight."

* * *

Student-fair flights to Amsterdam, hustled by Erza and highly disapproved of by Natsu.

"This is bullshit. You know I can't handle air travel. What happened to the original plan to drive?"

"They changed."

"No shit."

Lucy hides a grin in the sleeve of her coat—oversized, Cruella de Vil. Scarlet bodycon to match the suede lining; deemed appropriate by Natsu. Blood won't show up on blood-coloured fabric.

The airport clock reads twelve in the afternoon. Natsu counts the hours down aloud; nine hours, four for training and the warm up, two to get to the venue and get settled, three to fuck around.

Cameras are kept away. There will be time to record when they get home, let's leave this as an _us_ thing.

"Luce."

Peck to the corner of her mouth. Wispy lashes flutter against stubbled cheeks, painted _oh_ against an inked neck.

"I got lipstick on you," she stammers, tries to rub if off and smudges Scandola over a timeless rose.

Amused grin, "It's alright. I'll see you later, baby."

She watches his back fade into the distance, presses a hand to her lips.

"He called me _baby_ …"

* * *

"I can't believe you haven't smashed her yet."

"What the fuck? Why are all you bastards so invested in my love life?"

Loke shrugs, eyes teasing. "Probably because you haven't had one. It's like watching your son go through puberty."

Gray snorts into his energy drink, forgets to complain about the stifling heat.

Aged boxing bags, unsponsored Nike gear. Pacing demon and a pervy-boy leer.

"She's _hot_ , man. If you haven't called dibs, I wouldn't mind getting in there—between there, inside there, same thing."

"You're sick. Get the fuck out of here. If you even lay a _finger_ on her I will throw you over a cliff."

"Seriously man, you should probably leave," Gray interjects, gestures at the analog clock, "Pre-match meetings start in five. We'll see you in the cage later."

The small-time fighter waves farewell, sneaks in one last comment that has Natsu seething. Pristine wrist wraps, chlorine-poisoned ice bath. His rival struts through the door like some pimp, every inch of skin covered in shitty prison ink.

"Cuntneel."

"Go suck a bag of dicks."

" _Boys_ ," his manager interjects, an old man much too frail to be in charge of such testosterone-overloaded ruffians, "save it for the cage."

Gray slaps him between the shoulders, mutters a threat into his ear. Don't fuck this up, the money from this fight could finally get you out of my apartment.

He bumps gloves with the bastard in front of him, tries not to cringe when the smell of rotten teeth and kush is purposefully blown into his face.

"Can't wait to see your head roll, pretty boy."

"Keep talking shit, you fuck. See where it gets you."

Makarov whacks him over the head as soon as the room is empty.

"Boy, what have I told you about responding to such indecent insults?'

"I'm not a pussy, Gramps. I'm not going to stand here and let some jail rat talk shit about me."

Red-rimmed eyes roll, wrinkles so much more pronounced in the grainy lighting. He turns his back on the sight, jumps rope until Laxus finally rips the handles from his gloves.

"Idiot. Don't tire yourself out."

"I'm fine, man."

Warning rap to the door, impatient roll of glistening shoulders.

"Let's do this shit."

* * *

Defence is your best friend.

Defence is your best friend.

Defence is your motherfucking best friend.

He dodges a particularly low punch to the stomach, shoulders brushing against the cage wires—to protect the fighters from particularly rowdy patrons. He can feel Lucy's eyes on his back, stands just that bit taller.

"How was it being someone's bitch in prison? 'Cause like, anal ain't so fucking bad, man. You're probably a pro by now, right?"

Enraged roar—anger makes you sloppy.

Fist to the face, dodged at the last second. Weak attempt at a leg lock, scrambled out of and evaded hook. Narrowed eyes take note of a slight limp— _distraction._

A pounding to his ribs he couldn't avoid. Purple bruising and cracked bones, fucking _dear lord_.

"What are you doing?" Laxus roars, "Get out of the corner!"

Vicious knee to the liver. Surprised gasp, rotten breath in his face. _Kick a dog while its down_. Three savage punches, a beating so hard he can see skull warp.

The countdown begins.

 _One, two, three._

 _Four, five, six._

Screaming, jeering. The sobbing of lost money, earnings gained.

 _Seven, eight, nine._

 _Ten! Match over!_

A rush—narcotic-like adrenaline.

"Shit," collapse to the floor, wipes blood from his brow, " _shit_."

Dodging punches with his face, classic Natsu move. Closed lids, bitten lips.

 _Warmth_.

"I was so scared."

Feeble voice, soft arms around his tense neck. He buries his face in golden hair, grazes tired knuckles over her gleaming cheeks.

"I'll get blood on you. Back up a bit."

"I don't care about that."

Wet cloth to his brow, prodding at his ribs. He hisses savagely but doesn't pull away—Mama didn't raise no pussy

(of course Gray and Cana have their doubts, but whatever.)

Lucy catches him staring and flashes a blinding smile. Nordic hair pulled into a messy ponytail, coat forgotten and chest spotted with his blood.

Perhaps it was time to _really_ make a move?

Later they lay side-by-side, Finnish radio reception grainy in Amsterdam.

"Let's to go Santorini. I got money to blow."

"I have a channel to run."

"A _travel_ channel, duh."

"I'll think about it."

In Lucy-speak, that's a _yes_.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _tbc_


	4. when in santorini

I'm a horrible person, but what else is new.

 **SHOUT OUT** to _MissVarta + Twishadowhunter + Soul-of-glass_ and _Ihartkimci_ **for the reviews** and a big **thank you!** to everyone who followed and favourited xx

* * *

i dont wanna waste my time / **_joji_**

only for you / _ℒ **und**_

fall away / _ℒ **und**_

/

plastic taste no. 4

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

"Jesus, this was a good idea."

Lucy hums her agreement, eyes soaking in the splendor of Santorini. Twinkling sea, dusty streets. She snaps a few photos and posts them to Insta, captions it as an _adventure._

"We should check in," she warns, all too familiar with the inner-workings of hotel administration—the best sleep to the highest bidder.

Natsu left everything unplanned. Perhaps her fault, for entrusting him with organising the trip while she tied off ends in both Finland and London. Now she sports a blank itinerary and blistered heels, from jogging up steady inclines in wedges unfit for hills and lifted pavement.

"C'mon, Luce. Half the fun is taking gambles and exploring things."

She can't argue with that logic, and takes his hand between hers more firmly, half because the crowded streets leave her wary of them separating and half because she needs his warmth.

A faded brick road due north takes them to the hotel she hastily managed to book whilst en route to Greece from London. Domed cerulean rooves, crumbling plaster of Paris. Natsu pulls her up the stone staircase, she thanks the receptionist over her shoulder. 32B leaves much to the imagination—and she loves it.

Open windows, mere holes in the walls left bare if not for the sheer curtains fluttering fiercely with the sea breeze. Natsu throws himself to the bed, beckons her with a playful grab of her dress.

"Was it worth it?" she asks, strokes his unshaven chin.

"Hell yeah. Erza said something about booking us to go scuba diving tomorrow, but other than that it's up to us."

"You know that involves a boat ride, right?"

His grip tightens around her waist, chest rumbling against her ear with his groan. "Unfortunately, yes."

The afternoon creeps away to evening, Natsu's restlessness rousing her from sleep. Wordlessly, she rises and changes into a longer dress, made of ivory silk that pools around her ankles. Natsu clumsily helps her tie the sash around her waist, calloused fingers and swollen knuckles leaving trails of goose flesh wherever they brush.

"You ready yet?"

She swipes gloss over her stained lips and leaves a mark on the back of his neck, _X_ marks the spot. He grabs her around the waist and nibbles into her throat, lips tickling the skin and leaving her in a fit of laughter.

He orders the lamb souvlaki, she sticks with seafood. Their plates end up being shared anyway, and their giggles attract the waiters more times than she count. The wine leaves her tipsy and red-cheeked, ankles wobbling in the heels that Natsu refused to help her put on. _Fuck those death-devices just go barefoot_.

"You're such a lightweight," he teases, rolls his shoulder where her head rests.

She whines a meek _stop,_ too tired to push him. By the third flight of steps she's been thrown over his shoulder, and he jogs the rest. Only when she is face down on their mattress does he tug off her heels, and she wriggles out of her dress and into her nightwear while he showers away the day.

Now they lay side by side, tasting the ocean in the air shared between them. He plays with a lock of her mussed hair, and she runs her fingers over his stubbled cheeks. Phones are turned off, the only sounds being the choppy ocean and the sleepy sighs of stray dogs.

"This is nice," he murmurs, voice raspy.

She hums, saves her voice for the yelling and laughter to come

(and of course, their eyes don't flutter closed until the dawning of the rich Greek sun).

* * *

"Why do you spend so much time covering your face in that bullshit?"

She ignores his whine, continues dabbing at the concealer under her eyes.

"You don't even need it. Like, you're perfect even with under eye circles or whatever the fuck you call them."

"You mean _bags_?"

"Yes! Those things. I mean, Jesus, I got two black eyes and you don't see me doing all that shit. Who cares what people think?"

Rolls her eyes, lets out a frustrated sigh. "It's about having a _routine_. Plus, it's my pamper time. Is that okay with you?'

She watches him bolt up through the vanity mirror. "Do whatever the fuck you want to, Luce. I just think you look fine the way you are."

Now he looms beside her, leans his hip into her shoulder. His eyes catch hers through the mirror until she threatens to glue his lips together with eyelash adhesive.

He pulls her out the door and to the docks for that, and she cradles his head on the boat ride to the caves just off shore. Swimming isn't really her thing, but he refuses to let her watch from the boat. A sneaky tug at her ankle and she tumbles, forgets to hold her breath and fights to scramble up for air.

His name is an enraged shout, and a heartbeat later it is a laugh. They wrestle like school children, smile like newlyweds. The world is almost unprepared for them as they tumble and burn, and they breathe life into the weathered boats and tattered flags of Santorini.

She documents it all—the flighty schools of fish, cats basking in the midday sun, the churches and their spires, the bronzed locals and their harsh language. There is beauty in all of it.

His beauty is different to hers. His is comprised of the tan-line on her thighs, the freckles that dot the skin there, the flutter of all her dresses and the echo of all her steps. He will wrap her brassy hair around his fingers, smell the lingering pine and sea salt. She finds an album all their own on his phone, and makes a face at half of the pictures there. Messy bun Lucy, just-woke-up Lucy, no makeup Lucy.

The Lucy the camera is never shown.

 _His_ Lucy.

Her Birmingham boy wraps a hand about her waist and pulls her legs across his lap. _Totally worth it_ , his eyes say, and hers bore back.

* * *

Returning to grey London is like coming back to a whole new planet, and a violent shiver rips through her. Natsu's arm squeezes her shoulders tighter, his jacket covering her summer wear.

This time the hotel is pre-booked, and she is glad to find the heater on for their arrival. They fall to the cushions and sleep until midday, and then she is a scramble of messy hair and frantic editing.

He provides the intro song, a new one by her favourite artist that she completely forgot had been released. _And if the stars collide, will she relieve my soul?_

It is Natsu's idea to instigate a game of _Where's Wally?_ Except with him, and all the little plays of light and mirror accidentally recorded by her time lapse. Natsu sleeping on their bed while she does her makeup, his tattooed hand playing with her hair while the rest of him resides off-camera. A sneaky shot of Plue, his reflection in the wide oceans of blue.

There are so many, and she wonders how long it will take before her viewers notice.

While they rest in slumber, the viewer bar rises and rises, and the comments take on a whole life of their own. They are unprepared for the whirlwind that follows, and she wakes to a complete storm.

"Oh, my gosh. Natsu, look!"

He tilts his head, looking only with one eye. "Trending tab? Great, come back to bed."

With a laugh she snaps the lid of her laptop closed and meets him halfway with her lips, trailing nibbles down his throat and around the rose on his neck.

"Y'know, I'm thinking about moving to Cali."

She pauses her hand where it rests upon Igneel, taps at the dragon's wings instead. "Really?"

"Yeah," he hums into the mattress, rolls his shoulders. "Just a thought, though."

"What would you do, though?"

"What I always do. I don't even think I'll _move_ there, just have a, like, prolonged stay, or some shit."

"Well, I'm needed in Norway for a week or two for a collab, but if you're still feeling the same, I wouldn't mind tagging along."

He rolls his eyes and pounces on her when she isn't looking. "As if I would leave you. What'd I do without your weirdo accent and weirdo face?"

" _Thanks_."

"You love it."

She hums a _maybe_ , giggles like a child when he begins tickling her exposed tummy. "Okay! Gosh, Natsu, I haven't even eaten yet. Don't make me laugh too hard or I'll vomit."

"Jesus, all right, didn't know I was dating a grandma."

A flush, eyes wide, _hush_ —

 _fall away I feel it, it's so soothing_

 _the look in your eyes is so moving._


End file.
